


Niam, Actually

by balefully



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-21 23:52:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/balefully/pseuds/balefully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall is cold, Liam is prepared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Niam, Actually

**Author's Note:**

> [lazy_daze](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lazy_daze/pseuds/lazy_daze) gave me a prompt and said I should comment-fic some Niam because last night I was moaning about how there isn’t any around anymore. So here we are.

It’s midnight by the time the plane takes off, the first day of winter, the day the world is supposed to end but clearly isn’t going to. LA is warm and the crews out on the tarmac are wearing t-shirts under their neon yellow reflective vests, but the recycled air inside the plane is cold and Niall’s jacket is balled up in the overhead bin under three people’s heavy carry-ons full of Christmas presents and souvenirs. 

He’s sprawled out in his first-class seat, though he can’t flip out the footrest until after takeoff. He pulls his arms inside the sleeves of his t-shirt, wrapping them around the goosebumpy skin of his stomach and folding himself in half a little bit, back curled down so he can rest his elbows on his thighs under the stretched-out cotton of his top to try and trap his body heat.

“There’s a blanket under your seat, you idiot,” Liam says fondly, head peeking up over the divide between 7C and 7D. He looks tired but his eyes are bright; they’re all pretty excited to finally be getting home. Home-home, not just London-home.

“Nah, it’s itchy,” Niall says, kicking at it. “Rather be cold.” He pops his arms back through his sleeves and cracks his knuckles absently.

“Well aren’t you a diva,” Liam says, and laughs, eyes crinkling up and tongue pressing at the back of his teeth. He reaches behind his head and Niall lifts an eyebrow, not sure what he’s up to. 

Liam tugs off his jumper, the new one he just bought the other day with Louis on Rodeo Drive, and tosses it at Niall. “Here. Now don’t say I never did anything for you.” 

Niall catches it in both hands without taking his eyes off Liam, whose black t-shirt is rucked up around his middle now, a pale swath of abs and the waistband of his Calvins showing where his trousers have slid low on his hips. Niall swallows. It probably would’ve been easier for Liam to just grab Niall’s jacket out of the overhead compartment, but Niall isn’t complaining. He grins and mumbles, “Thanks, Leemo,” fingers tightening in the fine grey wool of the jumper. 

Liam looks at him with that soft-eyed expression he gets sometimes, that Daddy sort of look, and Niall tucks his shoulder up to the side of his jaw, ducking his head to prevent a traitorous blush. Liam’s been so busy lately, so generally occupied, and it’s hardly Niall’s style to demand attention or time from anyone, much less someone like Liam who gives so much already unprompted. Having that look aimed at him again, holding Liam’s jumper in his hands smelling like the woody spice of his Marc Jacobs plus that sleepy sort of Liam smell — it’s a lot to take in all of a sudden, and feels somehow more important than it probably should. Niall sighs happily.

He pulls the jumper on, not giving a shit if it ruins his quiff, and slides his hands through the too-long sleeves. It’s big on him, loose and soft, and the smell of Liam is only thicker and warmer and better when it’s wrapped around him. 

“Looks good,” Liam says, a little too quiet, eyes dark. This time Niall feels his cheeks go pink and doesn’t care if Liam sees.


End file.
